Sermon June 8 2025 Pentecost                                                     Rev. Betsy Hogan

Did any of you hear a faint buzzing noise, all day yesterday? Literally all day, from a quite early hour of the morning, non-stop until sundown?

If so, I wouldn’t want to assert this as an absolute unilateral fact, for any one of us gathered here, but I think there’s a reasonably good chance that if you live on the peninsula, it was coming from the West End. 

And it was the sound of every single lawn and every single park on every single street finally being mowed on the first dry Saturday since no-mow May. 

All those carpets of yellow dandelions that we’d purposefully left for the bees and other pollinators having completely devolved into chaos. All those carpets of yellow that we've actually gotten used to and they're kind of bright and cheerful and a lovely sign of springtime... all suddenly a foot tall and gone to seed in a white-ish grey mess. 

And ENOUGH – we've done our duty, the bees are happy, but it’s time. 

We have our limits. Carpets of yellow and happy bees, yes. The rank chaos of dandelions gone to seed? Not so much. There's a reason why in climates like ours, dandelions have long been a symbol of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.

Because Pentecost – in the passage from the book of the Acts of the Apostles that we heard just now, it’s less that it occurred and it’s more like it’s… unleashed. Like fields of pretty yellow dandelions, suddenly a foot tall and blown apart in a frenzied cloud of MORE. 

Not in the least what any of Jesus' followers might have anticipated.

Or even hoped for. Or certainly planned for. Because Jesus had told them that he would send to them the Spirit -- a comfort and an inspiration and an advocate. His Spirit, to accompany them forward. To give them strength, to drive them along, to work in and through them in shaping a faithful and holy community. 

He'd told them the Spirit was coming. They knew enough to anticipate its arrival.

But, you know, the LAST time the Spirit turned up -- at least so far as his followers know -- the LAST time the Spirit turned up, it descended from the heavens as a dove. 

A gentle and beautiful dove, sailing on the wind, gracefully alighting on Jesus' shoulder in the moment of his baptism, sign and symbol of God's blessing and God's presence. So lovely, so holy -- presumably it'll be like that again.... Maybe like carpets of yellow, bright reminders of springtime: uplifting and expansive and energizing. 

But what happens instead on the day of Pentecost, when Jesus' followers are all gathered together? Thunder, lightning, hurricane wind and an earth-shattering roar -- and everybody's head on fire??!

This is NOT what they thought was going to happen -- this is NOT how they thought the Spirit arriving would be.

Because it should have been, I don't know, gentle. Shouldn't it? Holy. Lovely and worshipful. Solemn but grace-filled. A moment of beauty, with angel chorus. And fall on your knees in a carpet of yellow flowers. Receive the holy spirit.

So thunder and wind and everyone's head on fire? This is not the Holy Spirit they were looking for. And it's not just that it's unexpected, it's also embarrassing.

Because everyone around them now thinks they're drunk -- it's nine o'clock in the morning for heaven's sake, but everyone around them now thinks they're drunk, and frankly, if they could just get past the part where their heads are on fire, they could probably admit they can pretty much see why. 

Because, the truth is, they're not exactly behaving like they're sober. Like, with any kind of appropriate decorum. In fact, they're pretty much babbling like they can't keep it together, like they're completely out of control. Like they don't know how to behave in public, and sheesh, didn't anyone ever teach them manners???? It's embarrassing. They're just a complete MESS.

But meanwhile.... in the midst of all this chaos.... "Perfect," says God. "That's exactly how I wanted that to go."

They needed, perhaps, the disciples, exactly that kind of chaotic shake-up. 

NOT the Holy Spirit of peaceful indwelling. NOT the Holy Spirit of deep breaths of ocean air, or the embrace of the humming life of the woods or a garden or a gentle stream. NOT the Holy Spirit of quiet contemplation.

But in that moment, instead, the Holy Spirit that flips the switch. From ‘bloom where you’re planted’ as it were, to ‘be the change you want to see in the world’. 

And ‘be the change’ how? NOT, despite all the thunder and violent wind and tongues of fire crashing all around them, NOT with overwhelming majesty and might and fists of triumphant power –

But instead just with the capacity to speak people’s language. Quite literally, in this moment, when all of them are suddenly given the ability to speak in the languages of every other nation surrounding them, in this chaotic babble of languages that evokes the old Bible story of the Tower of Babel and astonishes everyone in the crowd – 

But also metaphorically. What they’re given by the Holy Spirit to ‘be the change they want to see in the world’ is the ability to speak people’s language. To reach them where they are. To communicate in ways that are understood, and make sense, and connect, and build real bridges.

It’s powerful stuff. It’s maybe even MORE powerful when we realize how radically it’s really not the usual kind of powerful at all – and yet it’s so powerful. To be able to speak people’s language and reach them where they are and communicate in ways that make sense – and then there’s a connection… and now they’re communicating with us too. And we’re ALL being the change we want to see in the world because what it fundamentally starts with is seeing each other as neighbours and not strangers.

Dandelions have long been a symbol of Pentecost in parts of the world like ours not only because they explode into seeds chaotically – but also because when those seeds land, and wherever they land, they are truly amazing at nearly always finding a way to take root and grow. 

Whether that means ‘speaking the language’ of a piece of concrete, or the middle of a stone wall, or an otherwise pristine bit of grass. Dandelions can turn virtually ANY stranger into a neighbour, no matter how deep down they need to reach to find a way to connect.

It’s powerful stuff that the Holy Spirit unleashes on Pentecost. Made even more powerful, I think, when we realize how radically it’s really not the usual kind of powerful at all.

Because to decide to ‘speak people’s language’, reach them where they are, dig down to where they’re a neighbour and no longer a stranger – it’s what the world sometimes disdains as compromise. The lowest common denominator of whatever’s left when difference gets swept away in favour of common ground.

And yet. That’s what the Holy Spirit unleashes on Pentecost as God’s vision. That powerful capacity to speak people’s language, to dig down to the common ground, to make neighbours out of strangers.

That powerful capacity to compromise. It’s funny that it doesn’t sound like an amazing gift of the Holy Spirit that should be celebrated with all the energy we can muster, because it really IS. 

And it’s our best thing. Canada was literally a compromise, at a time when no one was compromising, on connecting together a nation with two separate colonial languages and two separate colonial religions. Finding enough common ground to muddle into nationhood together.

And the United Church was literally a compromise between long and deeply rooted and very distinct Protestant Christian traditions, with rigid doctrinal and cultural and social differences. Finding enough common ground to muddle into Church Union together. 

Because letting strangers become neighbours is letting the Holy Spirit do its best work in us. It’s the beginning of being the change we want to see in the world. 

It’s powerful stuff. It’s chaotic, it’s not easy, we might find ourselves thinking that’s quite enough of no-mow May, thank you very much, and bring on the calm and gentle smoothness of the Holy Spirit descending as a dove on a perfect green lawn.

But no, says God. You can do this. Have courage. Your head’s not really on fire. That’s just a metaphor. Let my Spirit fill you and be the change that all of us want to see in the world. Amen.